


Hold Me Tight

by SpringZephyr



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Insecurity, Light Dom/sub, Other, Praise Kink, but this fic is also rated T
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:07:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28410648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpringZephyr/pseuds/SpringZephyr
Summary: Mammon blushes like a rose, like the bread of a red velvet cake, like the warmth of a fire burning on a snowy day. It takes so little to make him blush, even when your flirting doesn't take on an unusually straightforward fashion like this. He colors frequently when you're around, and furthermore, the color suits him.You tell him as much, and Mammon's brilliant shade of red spreads all the way from his cheeks to the tips of his ears.
Relationships: Main Character/Mammon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Mammon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader
Comments: 8
Kudos: 165





	Hold Me Tight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [otomekaidii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/otomekaidii/gifts).



> If you read through enough of Otomekaiidi's headcanons/fics you'll eventually see how I made good on that comment stating I wanted to write something based on them. So yeah, might as well tag this as a gift fic.

You are sitting on Mammon's chest, admiring the rise and fall of each breath underneath your thighs, his mouth hanging open slightly. Pinning his wrists to the bed. Much more brazen than your usual attempts at flirting, which tended to go either unnoticed or leave him in a state of disbelief.

As usual, Mammon blushes.

Mammon blushes like a rose, like the bread of a red velvet cake, like the warmth of a fire burning on a snowy day. It takes so little to make him blush, even when your flirting doesn't take on an unusually straightforward fashion like this. He colors frequently when you're around, and furthermore, the color suits him.

You tell him as much, and Mammon's brilliant shade of red spreads all the way from his cheeks to the tips of his ears.

"Wha… What're ya talkin' about?"

He sounds either annoyed or pouty, which is a good indication that he's actually just embarrassed. Mammon continues muttering, something that begins with "don't forget that I'm a  _ demon _ " and becomes progressively less coherent as time goes on, and he turns his head in an attempt to press his face into your pillow. By the time he reaches the point of fumbling through single words, you've kind of tuned him out anyway.

The words aren't the part that's important, it's the little things you hear between them. At the moment those things are breaths being sucked in through clenched teeth, soft grunts and a growl that comes from the deepest part of Mammon's chest, the sound of Mammon feeling  _ loved _ , and not knowing how to react to that.

But by the end of the night, make no doubt, he will know that love is exactly what you're feeling.

"Look at me."

Mammon makes a sort of gasping, questioning sound, so you repeat your demand. He still doesn't turn his head back, but he does offer an explanation.

"You're not seein' me at my best, so…"

"That's not true," you inform him.

He freezes, understandably confused at how you could possibly say that about his splotchy, teary-eyed face. You would feel the same way, if you were in his situation. There's nothing wrong with crying, but to have someone else bear witness, to permit yourself to be so vulnerable in front of another person --

Mammon expects an explanation now. You had better give one to him.

"I… I love that about you," you confess. It's strangely one of the boldest things you've done tonight, and you're still looking down at him from the throne you've made atop of his chest. "You're so open. With your emotions. I really like that."

It's not the most elegant explanation, but Mammon seems to understand. He nods into your pillow, the tip of his nose rubbing against the fabric.

The blush is still there. His eyes are still shining, and if he hadn't already been on the verge of crying, you suspect he would be now.

"I love you, Mammon," you repeat, wanting to drive the point home.

"Don't think you can just tell me a few pretty words, and… and have your way with me."

You let go of his wrists in response, and you watch the muscles in his throat tense as he swallows.

"Oh," he says, now sounding disappointed.

"You're that 'nothing' when I'm smiling for no reason, and people ask what I'm thinking about. Jokes are funnier when you tell them."

"Even when I bungle 'em up?"

"Especially. It's cute when you get so excited to tell your punchline that you accidentally ruin it."

Pleasantly surprised to hear this, this, of all things, is what finally convinces Mammon to look at you again. His brothers may complain every time it happens, but you absolutely love how enthusiastic Mammon can be.

"I like your jokes too," Mammon mumbles, even though you mostly know corny dad jokes, and that is completely not the point right now.

You like that he's trying to compliment him back, but you like it even more when you're the one doling out praise.

"Everything looks good on you -- you could make a pair of crappy old sweatpants look like high end fashion. You're caring, smarter than people give you credit for, and social."

Mammon opens his mouth, and you cut him off before he has a chance to protest, "Yes, you  _ are _ smart. Did you forget who always comes up with the plans to get us out of trouble?"

He does a poor job of hiding his smile, that same smile that always accompanies the little wiggle dance he does every time you tell him he did a good job after a dance battle. He tries to do the same dance here, but it's suppressed to a shiver by the weight of your body on his chest.

Speaking of which, you'd consider getting off of him, but he doesn't seem bothered by your weight above his lungs at all. Demon strength, maybe. You've spent more than a few minutes like this -- heck, it's probably been at least five since you unpinned his hands.

This conversation could last forever, if you wanted it to.

"Don't forget that I've seen your grades in math, also."

Mammon seems happy, but you frown in exchange. While it's true that the conversation could go on like this forever, and Mammon is obviously enjoying it, these are… 

These are all things that you could say to him on a normal day.

"I feel…" you pause, struggling for the words that are even harder to say then "love" for you. "I feel  _ safe _ around you."

You can say "I love you" to anyone. They're easy words to say, because you've said them dishonestly dozens of times already. To people who expect to hear those words, even if they don't deserve them.

But this, this is as good as admitting you're vulnerable. That you have been frightened and uncertain and scared inside the Devildom, and even before then, if you're being honest.

Whether or not Mammon understands what you mean by that doesn't matter. At least, you tell yourself that it doesn't --

Then Mammon rolls you off his chest and turns the rest of the way onto his side so he's the big spoon, and says "I love ya too", and your face warms in a way that possibly even matches his. His arm rests on top of your shoulder, protectively, and it seems as though both of you are going to end the night feeling loved.

**Author's Note:**

> Somehow, the most embarrassing thing about this story is gifting it to someone I've only talked to *once*, which is possibly a step up from the first contribution I made to this fandom, where I was embarrassed by the entire thing?


End file.
